Beer For My Horses
by gf7
Summary: First person piece from Stabler and Benson about a case that they got entirely too close to and the effects their job has on them.


Title: Beer For My Horses

Author: Shawn Carter

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Summary: First person piece from Stabler and Benson about a case that they got entirely too close to and the effects their job has on them.

Rating: PG-13. Some language.

Notes: This is my first SVU piece. I usually dwell in the genre field so this is an interesting test for me to see if I can do it.

Music Notes; The Title is a Toby Keith song.

* * *

She turned eleven the day we got the call to come to her apartment for the final time. I can remember thinking that she looked absurdly small lying on the cold surface of her kitchen floor wearing only a pair of too short green and red flannel pants and a bright yellow tee-shirt with the name of some summer camp she'd just attended stretched across the fabric. Or I guess I should say just barely wearing since her clothing has been torn and ripped down around her fragile broken body.

We'd done our business. Gotten the facts. Me, I'd just kept staring at her, unable to keep my eyes from drifting down to her face. So pale and waxy and oddly the only part of her little body that hadn't been smeared red with her own blood. I'd clenched my hands and felt my teeth smash violently together as I'd fought desperately for control.

My fault.

No come on, not like we haven't all been down this road a time or two. We do this job day in and day out and sometimes we get it right and sometimes we really fuck it up. Is this one of those times?

Probably not. I mean really honestly by the book? No, we probably did this one right. By the book anyways.

The book and what I actually believe are two different things though. Let's just say we differ rather dramatically.

She was ten when we were introduced to her. Amy Erwin, the little wanna-be gymnast with a smile that I think cut right through to my heart from day one. I mean sure it's easy to say that she reminded me of my girls but it's more than that. When her case was brought to us we were told that her mother had been offering her as payment to her so-called boyfriends for drugs. All in all Amy had been raped more than thirty times by the time she was ten and from there it had just gotten so much worse.

So much more terrible.

But you know what that sweet little girl did the very first time I met her? Twenty seconds after I'd told her my name? Yeah that's right, she's surprised the living hell out of all of us. How? Well she'd smiled.

Yeah, little Amy Erwin had smiled at me and asked me if I thought I could beat her at a game of checkers. In spite of myself, in spite of the pure horror of the case and the situation at hand, I'd been unable to stop myself from laughing in response. And then taking her up on the challenge.

And God if she hadn't kicked my ass.

I mean really kicked it. Sometimes I let my kids beat me because it's good for their self-esteem but this was different.

She was good. She was damn good.

I guess this one had become mine then. Usually I leave this kind of thing to Olivia, she handles it much better than I do because when it comes to dealing with children and how badly they've been hurt by the people who are supposed to protect and love them I tend to have this crazy strange nervous tick. A bit on the violent side really. See when I hear that some jackass has been hurting their child I always want to start kicking things and that tends to get me in trouble.

Amy, though, she I couldn't turn away from.

She was someone I broke the rules for.

I made her personal.

I still am.

I knew better. I still know better.

Doesn't matter.

I shouldn't be here. I know that. I'm not family. I'm not a loved one. I'm just the cop who failed her. I'm the guy who fell for that big smile and then did nothing to protect it.

"Elliot," a voice says from my side, deep but quiet. I turn slightly, not moving my body but rather my head. My eyes slide upwards and I blink at him in acknowledgement.

"Captain," I reply, my voice nearly monotone. I mean no disrespect but I have little emotion or energy left to spare. "I know I shouldn't..."

He smiles slightly, an understanding but curt expression. It silences me and we both look away from each other and stare straight ahead, watching as the funeral for a little girl ends.

My eyes scan the crowd of mourners. It's just a small handful of people most of whom have never met her. These people are here because a two-column front-page article in the New York Times told them her name and her story. They're here to try to make a difference.

Let's be honest though, the time for that has passed and everyone failed her and nothing we can do now, all of the tears and mourning in the world can't change that.

Nothing can.

There's a plump woman up front weeping nearly hysterical. I watch it with a sort of strange detachment, wishing to some degree that I could follow suit but knowing that it would be an empty gesture.

I owed her more.

"Come on," Cragen says to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. I'll buy you a beer."

His tone leaves little room for argument but I think my body language does it anyway. I hold my ground for several moments, unable to force my feet to move. He squeezes my shoulder for emphasis and finally I give.

I relent.

I look back once more and see the mourners starting to scatter. I feel like I should say something.

I have nothing to say.

Nothing to give.

I let her down.

Cragen gives me a gentle nudge with the flat of his palm, pushing me towards our cars, which are parked next to each other. I glance up at the sky and see that there are circling dark clouds above us.

Rain soon.

Good on that.

Let it pour.

"It's not always good enough just to be a good cop," Cragen tells me as we reach the cars. "At least for us."

"I know that," I reply, not really wanting to talk about this. I'd rather punch something. I briefly consider heading over to the gym to box for a bit but to be brutally honest getting hammered sounds a lot nicer.

Won't change things.

"Elliot," he starts. I want to cut him off but don't bother to even try because it won't stop him. He'll push on anyways so I might as well listen or at least pretend to. Might as well just play along. "We tried."

I laugh. It sounds bitter even to my own ears. "We failed. She was ten years old and we knew what was happening and what that..." I stop and catch myself. I catch my anger. I breathe out and I finish the sentence, though not in the way I would have preferred. "...that woman. We knew what that woman was doing to her and we didn't stop it. That makes it our fault."

"Sometimes we fail," he says simply. If I didn't know him better I would have thought the statement cold and uncaring but for him it's just a truth. We failed. Nothing more. Nothing less. Cold hard facts and no silly verbage to lighten the impact.

"And she's still out there," I reply dully, opening the door to my car. A drop of rain hits my face and slides down my nose. I brush at it impatiently and my eyes drift upwards. I reject the stark raving mad notion to put my arms out and wait for the torrential downpour to come and soak me through. A tad melodramatic perhaps.

"We'll get her," Cragen assures me. I frown slightly, I'm not a young idealistic cop anymore and I'm not much for worthless assurances. He seems confident though.

But then again I suppose he should be. Carole Erwin is a heroine addict on the run. She let one of her pimps, pushers, or boyfriends depending on the term you choose to use, rape and murder her little girl. Now she's scared shitless.

She should be.

Vengeance has its place too.

The guy who did it, we'll get him. No worries there. I'll hunt him down until the day I die. I can pretty much promise that but her, no I want her.

I really want her.

How a mother does that to her child is beyond me. Frankly I don't want to understand and I don't give a damn what psychological bullshit Huang comes up with to explain it. The word depraved doesn't even begin to describe that woman. Not even remotely.

To be honest though I've seen that kind of evil before. More than a few times really. That's not what got to me. That's not what crawled under my skin.

No, the truth is, it was all about her. She was the one who did me in.

I was blown away by her ability to still trust anyone after what her mother did to her. But it was more than that. Amy was still smiling, still laughing. Still daring me to beat her. Still hoping to one day be some kind of Olympic champion. Some kind. Any kind. Didn't matter to her.

Her mother stole that dream from her.

She'll pay for that.

God I'm too close.

I bring my hands together and tent them, placing them over my nose and using my pointer fingers to rub at the skin just under my eyes. I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping.

Hard to count sheep when every time the little guy jumps towards the fence I hear a child's giddy laughter as she triple jumps me on the checkers board.

I can't talk to Kathy. I mean it's not like she wouldn't listen. Of course she would, she's my wife after all, but I don't think I could ever actually explain it. I mean really explain it.

Because you know the facts are simple.

Simple right?

Simple.

We got a call from a neighbor telling us that strange men were going into this apartment night and day and that they could hear a child screaming. The neighbor said she wondered if the men were hurting the little girl.

The neighbor was right.

And we had that woman cold.

But somehow, someway, everything got screwed up

Never underestimate the power of money. Never discount its role in allowing evil to continue.

That's my lesson for today. Yeah, I'll go with that.

Her father was a rich guy who'd made his fortune selling trash on QVC and he pulled all the right strings and got his little monster of a daughter a lawyer who was just slimy enough to find a way to get the warrant thrown out. I still don't quite understand how. It's all bullshit to me but Casey took it real personally. And truthfully I was so pissed off that I didn't even bother trying to let her know that it wasn't her fault. None of that mattered to me. Doesn't matter to me today.

Our justice system let Amy down.

We let her down.

Which is not to say we gave up. Not exactly.

We tried again but her daddy was a step ahead of us. He cleaned her up and made her scrub behind her ears. For weeks we sat on her, waiting for her to return to her old habits. Waiting for her to get high as a kite and start making deals to get herself drugs. But her father was slick and he beat us to the punch by sending Amy away for the summer. He made sure his sick psychotic daughter couldn't slip up.

Finally we had other cases. Other monsters to chase. Finally the world moved on and we had to look away.

We had to close the doors and turn off the lights.

Hell we even turned off her damn nightlight and hoped that somehow we'd managed to rid her closet of the nasty little monsters that liked to hang out in there. The ones more kids could cuddle with their parents to get away from.

All we could do was hope and pray.

That wasn't enough though because when she'd returned from camp so had the monsters.

And one of those little bastards killed her.

He raped her and when that smiling little girl with the bright blue eyes resisted he broke her body and then finally her neck.

When he had failed to take her innocence because somehow or another she refused to give it up, he took her life instead.

He'll pay.

But I want her. I want the monster that was supposed to be her mother.

I can't talk to Kathy about this. She'd try but she'd never get it. That's not her fault. Just how it is.

I can talk to Olivia but why bother when I know she feels the same way. We both let her down.

Me though, I got too close.

I'm still too close.

I can still see those green and black flannel pants pulled down around her ankles, bruises lining their way up her too thin legs. The summer camp tee-shirt she'd been wearing had seemed so obscene then, a nearly neon reminder of one of the reasons we'd failed so badly. That summer camp had probably been the best days of her life but they'd just been an illusion, an escape from her ugly reality. Because the truth is, monsters don't change.

They never change.

"Elliot?"

I look up and blink. Cragen is watching me carefully. He thinks I'm losing it, he wonders if I can handle it.

I wonder that too.

Every damn day.

I wonder if eventually it'll just become too much and I'll need to transfer to something a little saner, something like narcotics. Something that doesn't reach into your chest and play jigsaw puzzles with your soul.

I'm not going anywhere. Not yet.

"I think McCormick's is open," I tell him, gesturing down the street. He nods slowly, knowing we're not going to talk. He feels the same way I do about this whole thing.

Shitty. Just plain shitty.

So we'll drink. Or I'll drink anyways. He'll probably order himself a club soda or something like that.

And we'll try to forget for a few hours.

Just a few.

I laugh inwardly, such an ugly feeling.

I'll never forget.

* * *

I need to count this out. To ten. To gain my balance and my composure.

To control myself. To keep myself from losing it completely.

No one outside of this could really understand the line that we dance on every single day, every single hour. How each time we make an arrest we wonder if it wouldn't just be easier to use our guns instead of our cuffs.

Like the word would miss a man who could rape and murder an eleven year old child.

Why do the bad guys get the breaks?

Why do the bad guys get the law on their sides and the victims get nothing. As long as I do this I don't think I'll ever get that. I imagine if I think on it too long I'll have to walk away. I don't think I could deal if I actually thought about it.

"Ready?" Fin asks me, glancing back at the others in the group. They're armed and ready. We're going in. One of them is a young kid with wild blue eyes. He looks nervous and twitchy but I can see the set of his jaw. There's anger there. There's anger in all of us. We know what this is. We know what this means.

Three weeks ago Amy Erwin was murdered. Two weeks ago she was buried mourned only by people she'd never met.

And us.

Today maybe we have a chance to get her a little justice.

For whatever good that will do for a baby that too many people let down.

Including us.

I nod. "Let's do it."

I need to count it out. I need to focus. I need to gather myself. If I don't then I'll do what I really want to do.

I want to make sure justice is served. I want to make sure Amy is avenged and never forgotten.

That's not my place. I can't be judge and jury.

I have to count it out. To ten. Count it out to ten.

I do. I focus on ten.

Then I kick the door.

It shatters under me, cheap worthless wood. Hardly a surprise. We storm the house, weapons ready, willing to fire at the slightest provocation. All of us want just one excuse.

Anything please.

I see him first. My throat constricts.

It occurs to me that they're together. God, they're together. The bitch that allowed it and the monster who did it. That's too simple really but for now it'll do.

It'll keep me from completely losing it.

"Olivia," Fin murmurs to me, even as he's moving past me. I barely hear him though, my eyes locked on the man standing in the middle of the room, wearing only a pair of pitifully stained tidy whities. I close my fingers around the handle of my gun, digging my nails in as hard as I can. I know why Fin said my name, it was as a kind of friendly warning, something telling me to stay in control. Telling me he'd like to do the same thing I want to do to this man.

Reminding me that we can't.

We're the law. We play by the rules.

We're justice not vengeance.

"John Seilman," I say as I reach out for him. He moves backwards and falls over, his legs flying upwards over his head as he stumbles. He hits the carpet with a thud and I'm on him, shoving his face as hard as I can into the ground. He grunts and calls me a bitch and a few other choice names.

Me? I just shove my knee even harder into his back, a little control fleeing me. There's a sense of pleasure in what I'm doing but it's not a good feeling. It's a very dark one and I don't enjoy it. I fight against it. I fight so damn hard.

He should be thanking God right about now that I'm the one arresting him and not Elliot.

He struggles against me so I intensify the pressure until he whimpers. "You're under arrest for the rape and murder of Amy Erwin," I hiss at him, just barely managing to get the words out before my throat nearly collapses in on me. I feel like I'm choking, the rage building inside of me nearly explosive in it's intensity.

I start reading him his Miranda rights and once again I'm struck by how wrong it is for a man like this to have rights to anything. I'm a cop and I shouldn't have these thoughts but frankly our system self-destructs on monsters like this. It's lets too many of them free because of paperwork technicalities and garbage legal maneuvering.

Our system allowed Carole Erwin to go free.

I stand with Seilman as Fin exits the bedroom pushing Amy Erwin's mother in front of him. She looks up at me and lifts her chin defiantly. "This is wrong," she tells me. "You won't get away with this."

I want to laugh.

I think I want to throw up.

Instead I just smile at her. "We'll let a jury decide that." My tone is smug but I'm nowhere close. I just feel sick.

"I didn't rape that little bitch," Seilman howls, his voice entirely too high. Like a teenager experiencing hormones for the first time he hits a note that makes my ears vibrate in agony. "Tell her baby, tell her you gave her to me as a gift," he wails.

I see Fin's jaw clench and once again I'm thankful that Elliot is in court today. With John. God this would be so much worse if they were both here. He tightens his hold on Erwin and practically hisses his next words, "Yeah, tell us you handed your little girl over. Please, tell us. Make this easy on us."

"I'm not saying a word," she announces, almost proudly but definitely with an air of confidence. "I want my lawyer. This is harassment."

"Fine," I reply, yanking on Seilman. I turn towards one of the forensics guys. "I want the clothes they were wearing. If they're still here, I want them."

The kid nods, his hair falls forward. He's solemn and I can tell upset by this whole thing.

Yeah I know the feeling but relax, for you it's just a glimpse into my world. It's just a window. For me it's a mortgage.

For me it's like having two kids and a family dog. I'm here to stay. Bills to pay and all that. I mean emotionally of course. I'm still paying the interest on my own mental demons thank you very much.

We get back down to where the cars our parked. Fin shoves Carole Erwin in, making sure her head clears. It takes everything inside of me to force the same result for Seilman. I close my eyes for a beat, desperately seeking control. It comes eventually as it always does. I turn to Fin and sigh, my exhaustion and weariness clear. "She has the same father," I say softly. "And the same lawyers."

He nods. "We got them this time."

"Won't change things," I murmur, glancing down at my hands. Wondering what I see. Not sure I see anything. Thinking I should but knowing that it would just be a few more scars for the old scrapbook. A little more dead skin telling me where I'd been and what I'd been through.

Fin shrugs. I know he's not nearly as nonchalant as he'd like me to believe. He's protecting himself right now, fighting for his own kind of control. "Can't change things. But it's justice."

"Justice won't bring back Amy."

"No," he admits. "It won't."

He moves away from me and we both leave the rest unsaid.

It won't change the fact that we all let her down.

We all let her die.

This is our job. This is what we do. We're supposed to take care of the ones who are incapable of doing it for themselves. We're supposed to protect the little ones.

We failed.

I knew from the moment Amy Erwin came into our life that this was going to hurt. The look Elliot got on his face when right after we asked about what her mother had been doing to her she playfully challenged him to a game of checkers.

And then when she had beaten him, and quite easily I might add, she had laughed as any child would. As any child with not a care could.

But Amy wasn't just any carefree child.

No one would have blamed her if she'd been incapable of any kind laughter but her capacity for childish youth and easy friendship and compassion had melted right through both of us. We've seen so much and sometimes we pull back as hard as we can to keep from getting involved.

We had no choice there.

Hell let's be real, we had no chance is the right way to say it.

Even the Captain who usually manages to keep himself from getting personally involved felt it.

We all did. She was a special kid.

"Want to get a beer after we finish up the paperwork?" Fin asks me, placing a hand on the top of his car. His fingers drum against the metal, a slow melodious sound. One more way to fight for control in all actuality.

I nod slowly. I'm actually not much in the mood for company but I know better than to just go home alone with my thoughts after days like this. We're all feeling the same thing and maybe none of us really care to actually say much but even downer company is still better than the silence of your own self incriminations.

This is it. This is the job. This is how it goes.

We find justice where we can and sometimes we can't. Sometimes we fail. Sometimes when we do it takes something from us that we can never get back.

So we deal.

We go to dinner and laugh over beers, all the while our minds tracing over the woulda, shoulda, couldas with a fine tooth comb. Not unlike a child with tracing paper really. Leaves an imprint that can never be erased.

But we cover it all up and we hide and we keep fighting to make a difference. To fight our own demons.

And we protect each other.

It's no coincidence that Elliot's not here today. The Captain knew what he'd do. I got to be the controlled one today. I had to be.

And maybe we'll find justice.

And maybe we'll find peace.

And just maybe we'll sleep and forget.

Not likely.

We'll just keep going until we can't. Until nothing else moves forward inside of us. Until our feet refuse to lift us onwards.

And we do it for that smile.

For Amy Erwin's smile.

And because someone has to.

It's a cause. It's our cause.

It's my cause.

And I'll never forget.

-FIN


End file.
